Honest, Drunken Fools
by kaibaspants
Summary: Young Shanks and Mihawk have met up on a certain island, presumably for a duel, yet they've ended up drinking at a bar well into the night. When Mihawk decides Shanks has had enough, things take an unprecedented turn.
1. Chapter 1

"Shanks, you're drunk," Mihawk said, throwing the other man's arm over his shoulders and hoisting him off the bar stool and onto his feet.

"Of course. One more!" Shanks exclaimed, motioning vaguely at the bartender.

Glancing at Mihawk, the bartender said, "No can do, pal. Cuttin' you off."

Shanks found this hilarious for some reason and laughed uproariously until Mihawk managed to drag him out of the bar and into the cool night air. Though it was well past midnight, the streets were alive with nightlife. What more could be expected from an island famous for its wide variety of handcrafted beers and ales? No one paid the two young men much attention, all too focused on their own fun.

"Where is your ship?" Mihawk asked, wondering why he'd agreed to meet up with Shanks here in the first place. The two had been rivals as both pirates and swordsmen for years - since they had first met as little more than boys. But this time had been strange. Shanks hadn't put up much of a fight when they crossed swords upon finding one another, prompting Mihawk to end the duel and declare it inconclusive. After this, Shanks had only laughed, agreed, and dragged Mihawk off to drink.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Shanks slurred.

"Don't be absurd," Mihawk said irritably, not in the mood for jokes. "I have to take you back or you'll just head to the bar again."

"And that's a problem?" Shanks laughed.

Mihawk considered dropping him right there and then. After all, he didn't owe him anything. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Grinding his teeth, he stepped off the dirt road and headed across a field towards the forest that lined the island's coast. If Shanks wouldn't tell him where his ship was, Mihawk would just have to take him to his own.

"You could carry at least a bit of your own weight," he grumbled. He was practically dragging Shanks.

"But I'm tired," Shanks complained, his head lolling against Mihawk's shoulder.

"Tell me where your ship is and I'll take you there so you can go to sleep," Mihawk tried again.

"No," Shanks said stubbornly. "I wanna stay with you."

Mihawk stopped in his tracks. By now they had reached the cover of the trees. The distant chatter and drunken laughter coming from the town was nearly overpowered by crickets and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Shanks seemed to take the lack of movement as an invitation to drop all of his weight onto Mihawk.

"Goddammit," Mihawk swore, falling down. He wasn't exactly sober himself, and Shanks had caught him by surprise. "Get up."

But Shanks ignored him, and instead crawled closer and collapsed again, half in Mihawk's lap, arms around his chest, head on his shoulder. "Let's just sleep here."

Mihawk tried to push Shanks away, but the red-haired man refused to let go.

"Shanks, this is ridiculous, get your hands off me," he said, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart and the warmth in his cheeks.

Shanks looked up. His cheeks were pink and his smile sloppy and drunken, but there was something resembling clarity in his eyes. "What's ridiculous? I like you. I didn't call you here for a duel, I just wanted to see you."

Honesty, that's what was in his eyes.

"Shanks…"

Suddenly, his grip relaxed. He rolled off of Mihawk and sat in the grass. He rummaged around in his pockets and finally pulled out a piece of paper.

"I also wanted to give you this," he said, holding it out to Mihawk. "So we can always find each other."

Mihawk looked curiously at the paper, but took it and tucked it into his coat.

"Remind me in the morning and I'll explain," Shanks said. He swayed a little. "If I was too bold … I apologize. But I really do like you."

Mihawk avoided his gaze. "You're drunk."

Shanks ran a hand through his hair. "Drunken fools are honest fools. I like what you've done with your beard, by the way."

"Shanks," Mihawk said.

"Mihawk," Shanks mocked.

Mihawk sighed. "Let me take you to your ship." He stood and held out his hand to help the other man up.

Shanks grabbed it and in one fell swoop pulled Mihawk right back down, throwing his arms around his neck this time and planting a single soft kiss on the other's lips.

There was a beat of silence after they parted. Then Shanks seemed to realize himself and exclaimed, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I just wanted to - ! I mean I was only - ! I'm a fool, I -"

He was cut off by Mihawk dipping his head down and returning the kiss. "That you are," he murmured. "An honest, drunken fool."


	2. Chapter 2

When Mihawk awoke, his throat was dry and sore, his body ached, and his hair and clothing were damp. He blinked several times, staring at the canopy above, the silvery early-morning sky peeking through dark green leaves. Then a snore broke through the serenity and he realized that Shanks was asleep against his chest. Immediately, the previous night's events came flooding back to him. Had it really happened? Had he really spent the night kissing his rival? He reached into his pocket and felt the mysterious paper Shanks had given him. That part had been real, at least, and Mihawk had no reason to doubt the rest of it. Still, it felt surreal. He had never for a second imagined that Shanks would contact him for any reason other than a duel.

Yet here they were, sleeping together on the forest floor.

Mihawk was pulled from his thoughts when Shanks started to shift around. He opened his eyes slowly, focused in on Mihawk, and smiled sleepily. "Good morning."

"Morning," Mihawk replied.

"I think I'm still drunk," Shanks said.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Mihawk made a face. "You drink too much."

"No such thing." Shanks sat up carefully, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. "I'm hungry. Let's go get breakfast."

Mihawk wasn't exactly fond of the thought of going back into town looking the way they did, all crumpled, dirty clothing and mussed hair, but he knew Shanks well enough to realize resistance was futile.

"I'm not carrying you this time," he said, standing up and brushing himself off as best as he could.

Shanks mock-pouted, but said, "Alright, alright." He rose as well, swaying a little but managing to stay upright.

As they headed towards the town, Shanks whistled joyfully and moved so energetically that, were it not for the occasional stumble and the woozy weaving of his steps, one wouldn't have guessed he had drank at all. Mihawk, on the other hand, lagged a few steps behind. He had a pounding headache and even felt slightly nauseous despite not having had half as much to drink as Shanks. The last thing Mihawk wanted to do was be in public feeling like this, but part of him wanted to hear what Shanks would say about what happened between them (if anything) and, almost as an afterthought, he wanted the paper explained. So he allowed the cheerful Shanks to lead him to town and into a restaurant. Thankfully the place was fairly quiet, all the customers seemingly hungover pirates like themselves. Sliding into a booth, Shanks immediately shouted for water, earning him plenty of glares, grumbling, and one snarled "Shut the fuck up, asshole."

A pleasant waitress brought a jug of water and two glasses. The swordsmen gulped it down in no time, and when the waitress refilled it they drank half of it before placing their orders. Once the waitress had disappeared into the back, Shanks said, "Oh, yeah, about last night!"

Mihawk perked up, not having expected Shanks to bring it up so quickly.

"Do you still have the paper I gave you?"

Trying to ignore the disappointment that _that_ was what Shanks wanted to talk about, Mihawk pulled the paper out and showed it to him.

"Good. Hold on to it. It's called a vivrecard," Shanks explained. "I had it made while I was in the New World. Here, put it on your palm."

Eyebrow raised, Mihawk did as he was told. To his surprise, the card moved over his hand towards Shanks, who laughed. "Get it? It's like a compass that points to a specific person, or rather to the original card, which I keep on me at all times. Cool, right?"

"Amazing," Mihawk agreed. "So this way I really can find you at any time."

"Exactly. You should have your own made when you go to the New World, and then come bring me a piece!"

Tucking the vivrecard safely into his pocket again, Mihawk considered the idea. He hadn't really been planning on sailing to the New World. There was no point. After all, he wasn't chasing the One Piece like every other pirate seemed to be. And he wasn't sure how he felt about Shanks being able to find him whenever he wanted.

"Don't forget that we are rivals," he said. "You're as good as giving me the key to your house."

Shanks laughed. "Rivals don't have to be enemies! Besides, I hardly think you're going to sneak onto my ship in the night to slit my throat." He smiled coyly. "Though perhaps you'll sneak onto my ship in the night for some other reason..."

The waitress chose that moment to reappear with their orders. Mihawk covered his eyes with one hand, feeling himself go red, while the waitress held back a giggle and placed their plates before them. She bid them a good meal before scurrying away, and as soon as she'd gone, Shanks burst out laughing.

"Your face was priceless!" he exclaimed, and Mihawk's blush only deepened.

"Shanks, last night your were completely wasted, and it's not like I was sober either, and -"

"Yeah, yeah," the redhead said through a mouthful of food. "Thing is -" he swallowed. "Thing is, I meant what I said. Haven't you heard the saying, 'Drunk words are sober thoughts'?"

Mihawk found himself avoiding the other man's gaze. "Yes, well..."

"It's fine if you don't feel the same way. I just hope you won't punish me for my stupid heart." Shanks grinned and continued stuffing his face.

"It's not that..."

"So you do feel the same?"

"Shanks, we're pirates and rivals to boot."

"Yeah, I got that. Weren't you listening? Rivals don't have to be enemies."

"All the same, it isn't as though I'll be joining your crew or anything."

"So? Get a vivrecard, bring me a piece, and we can see each other from time to time."

Mihawk sighed and had a few bites of his breakfast. Shanks made it sound so simple. Yet just getting to the New World would be difficult, to say nothing of the complete absurdity of having some kind of romantic relationship with a rival pirate.

"What, don't think you can do it?"

Mihawk narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You don't think you can get to the New World?" Shanks clarified.

"Don't insult me."

"Then ... it's the rest you're worried about?"

"I never said I was worried."

Shanks winked. "You didn't have to."

Rubbing his temples and hating how easily the other read him, Mihawk said, "Everything you're suggesting is ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it?" Without waiting for an answer, Shanks added, "But hey, do want you want. You don't even have to come see me if you don't feel like it. I'll still find ways to contact you. And since that last duel was inconclusive, I know we'll have to cross swords again."

He was right, of course. There was no way Mihawk was letting him get away without drawing a proper conclusion.

"That'll have to wait," the redhead went on. "My crew's probably wondering where I've been all this time. If I don't head back they might even start thinking you managed to kill me." He drained one last glass of water and stood up. "Later!"

Mihawk couldn't help but watch over his shoulder as Shanks strolled out of the restaurant. And just before the door swung closed he saw the other man glance back as well, a grin across his face. He winked yet again and then he was gone. Mihawk finished his meal in silence and, after picking up the tab for both himself and Shanks (typical), headed back towards his ship. His headache had subsided to a dull and distant throbbing in the back of his head, the pain in his muscles had become mere background noise, and though the bright, mid-morning sunlight hurt his still-tired eyes, it was nothing he couldn't ignore. Now he had to focus on deciding his next move. Before he had received the message from Shanks to meet on this island he had been searching for a suitable island to make his home, at least temporarily. Logically, he should continue on the same path. Yet as he walked, his hand crept into his pocket to feel Shanks' vivrecard, and a bigger part of him than he'd like to admit started leaning towards heading for the New World.


End file.
